


Love Shot

by earthseraph



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dorks in Love, Hospital Visit, M/M, Steve Gets Shot, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, new neighbor au, nothing major, officer!Steve, this is all fluff i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 04:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5729401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthseraph/pseuds/earthseraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s crashing on the other side of the door and some creative cursing before the door cracks open with a <strike>beautifully</strike> disgruntled man on the other side, “Was I bein’ too loud?” the man says, opening the door wider when he sees Steve’s badge, “Sorry,” the man winces, “just moved in last night and I couldn’t sleep until something was done.”</p><p>He doesn’t mention or seem to mind the fact that Steve doesn’t have a shirt on.</p><p>“Moved in?” Steve sputters out because <em>damn</em>, if this isn’t the best looking man he’s seen in awhile.</p><p>(Or: New Neighbor AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Shot

**Author's Note:**

> For [Jessika](http://blackwidoh.co.vu/) who won my tumblr awards! Hope you like it cause I sure had fun writing this.
> 
> Un-beta'd, all mistakes are my own.

Loud thuds and the sound of something crashing wakes Steve up from a perfectly, nightmare-less sleep. He quickly rolls to the other side of the bed and lunges for the gun hidden in the nightstand, legs tangled in his sheets and hair sticking to his forehead. He hears a loud _FUCK!_ echo past the thin walls and jumps into action, untangling himself from the monster sheets and running through his apartment until he’s at the front door, he grabs his badge off a key-hook, slipping it into his pajama bottom pocket, and unlocks the door. 

The hallway’s chilly when he steps out, heart beating against his chest, sleepiness still like a blanket over him, but he has a job to do, so the cold against his bare chest and sockless feet doesn’t matter. All that matters is the safety and well being of his next door neighbor (and later, when Steve reflects on this moment, he’ll remember that the apartment next to his had been vacant for months).

Usually, if he were called into a case of the Crashing and Cursing type, he would have just kicked the door in, then went on with his police business. But this is a neighbor, and while his neighbor might be a criminal, he doesn’t want to have to explain to Barton why there’s a door off it’s hinges on the third floor. Even though he’s not going to kick the door down, he still has a fist and a loud knock he can use against it. 

Steve bangs on the door three times, “Police,” he yells, “please open the door.” He knows he should probably call in to his unit, get an actual warrant, but he’s half asleep and his precinct can dock him for all he cares- someone could be hurt, someone could be in danger on the other side of the door, and if getting those people help means getting himself docked, then so be it. He holds his badge up with one hand, gun- with the safety still on- tight in the other.

There’s crashing on the other side of the door and some creative cursing before the door cracks open with a ~~beautifully~~ disgruntled man on the other side, “Was I bein’ too loud?” the man says, opening the door wider when he sees Steve’s badge, “Sorry,” the man winces, “just moved in last night and I couldn’t sleep until something was done.”

He doesn’t mention or seem to mind the fact that Steve doesn’t have a shirt on.

“Moved in?” Steve sputters out because _damn_ , if this isn’t the best looking man he’s seen in awhile. His hair artfully messy in a bun, a white muscle shirt showing off his muscles with a state-of-the-art-prosthetic, and big blues with full lips to top it off. Steve knows he’s got an All American Boy look going for him, but this man looks like he just walked out of a Harley Davidson magazine. Rugged and perfect.

“Yeah,” the man continues, eyeing Steve’s bare chest and the gun he’s holding in his right hand, “new tenant.”

“Oh,” Steve says, a blush rising from both embarrassment at his jump to conclusion and from the way this man has no shame in looking at him like he’s a piece of meat, “uh- sorry about that sir,” he gestures with the hand currently holding the gun to his door, “I’m your neighbor and a policeman and, uh, I’ll just go now.” He moves to run back to his apartment and hide under his covers in shame when the man stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Nah,” the guy says shaking his head, hand very warm and very soft on Steve’s shoulder and it’s been a long time since anyone but a doctor’s touched him, and since his usual doctor is also Sam that kills all Nice Touches, “it’s cool, it’s your job to make sure everything's good and shit.” the man smiles at him, and _boy_ is it both contagious and blinding, “It’s nice to know my neighbor’s a policeman, too, I’m Bucky,” the man- Bucky- says removing the hand on Steve’s shoulder so Steve can shake it.

Steve shakes Bucky’s hand, holding on for a tad longer than necessary because he can’t get enough of Bucky and he doesn’t think he ever will, “I’m Steve,”

Bucky throws him another blinding-slash-contagious smile, “Nice to meetcha’, now,” he motions with the metal prosthetic that was holding on to the door, “I should get back to unpacking since it’s like three in the morning.”

“And I should get to sleep,” Steve says, still embarrassed about the lack of shirt and completely unnecessary gun in his hand, “got the early shift.”

“Well,” Bucky drawls, eyeing Steve’s chest once more, “see ya’ around Steve.”

Steve takes a step back, grime and cold hallway tile sticking to his feet, “See ya’ around, Bucky.”

Bucky smiles at him again before closing the door, the lock clicking shut on the other side.

Steve sighs and heads back to his own open apartment door. He hangs his badge up once more, locks his door and heads back to his room, putting his gun back in it’s rightful place. He lets out a sigh when he lays back on his bed and rubs his face because the first impression is the best impression, and while Bucky blatantly stared at his bare chest, it doesn’t mean that Bucky _doesn’t_ think he’s a complete, sleep deprived, idiot.

Maybe he’ll just avoid him at all costs, there’s that option, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to get to know his new neighbor with his messy hair and metal arm. He wants to actually have someone in this building other than old war vets to talk to and Bucky might be that person.

Sighing once more, Steve gets under the covers and shuts his eyes, tomorrow’s a new day.

* * *

* * *

Steve feels dead on his feet, all he really wants to do is shower, maybe warm up some leftovers, and sleep. He wishes he could do all three at once, but unfortunately he can’t sleep until he showers and he can’t eat in the shower unless he wants soggy food. Soggy food does not sound appetizing to him. 

He lets out a sigh when he steps out of the elevator and fishes out his keys from his pocket, maybe he can shower, take a power nap, then eat. Going without eating is also something he could do, but he really doesn’t want to deal with the raging hunger he’d have in the morning. Maybe he can convince Riley to bring him some food, they do only live a few blocks away from each other, but then again- they both had to chase some idiot perp down packed New York streets... That rules him out, maybe-

“Hey, Stevie!”

Steve looks up from the tile in front of his door that he’s been staring at for the last minute or so and immediately smiles, “Hey, Buck.”

Bucky grins at him and leans against his own door, “How was work?”

“Shitty,” Steve says because there’s nothing better to say, chasing someone on foot isn’t fun, and he doesn’t want to have to do it again a long time.

“Looks like it,” Bucky says, giving him a once over that’s more sympathetic than _I wanna get into your pants_.

Steve groans and nods, leaning his head against the door, “Feels like it, too.” he knows tomorrow morning his calves are going to burn like hell, running in full uniform with crappy work shoes isn’t exactly comfortable. 

“You eaten yet?”

Steve shakes his head, the conversation of _shower, maybe eat, sleep_ he was having with himself minutes ago rising in his head again. 

“Come with me to dinner,” Bucky says, pushing himself off his door, “my treat.”

Steve wants to decline, go shower, then probably pass out on his couch while he waits for dinner to warm up, but this is Bucky. Bucky who’s his new neighbor, and- as much as Steve doesn’t want to admit it- crush. So he nods, and pushes himself off his door, pocketing his keys with a nod to Bucky, “Lead the way.”

* * *

* * *

“So, have you always lived in Brooklyn?” Steve asks once the waitress leaves, pulling the soda he ordered closer to his chest. They went to one of the diners down the street, Bucky doing most of the talking about setting up his apartment, and Steve listening while trying not to drool because Bucky looks _great_ in burnt-yellow street lights.

Bucky shrugs with one shoulder, his long hair following the movement, “Kinda? I mean, I was born here, but when my folks died I moved to Indiana to live with my grandparents, then when a job offer came up I moved back.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Steve says, looking Bucky in the eyes, “I never knew my dad, died when I was a baby, and my Ma’ had cancer she just couldn’t shake, died last year.” Since Bucky gave him one personal part of himself, Steve could too. It’s only fair, and besides, if their friendship is as long term as Steve’s hoping for, then might as well get the Dead Parents talk over with now.

“I’m sorry for your loss, too,” Bucky says sincerely.

They both go quiet for a moment, sipping at their sodas, before Steve shrugs, “Guess we have a lot in common.”

Bucky chuckles, and it’s one of the best things Steve’s heard today other than a gruff ‘Go home Rogers’ from Fury, “Guess we do, so, how long have you been an officer?”

Steve looks up at the ceiling as he counts the years, it all seems like a blur of time working on the force, like nothing before this job even mattered, “About seven, eight years? Joined right out of college.”

“What’d you major in? Wait, lemme’ guess,” Bucky looks him up and down, squinting his eyes at him before snapping the fingers on his metal hand, “Kinesiology!”

Steve snorts, “No, what gave you that idea?”

“Well, I did see you without a shirt,” Steve blushes, “and you’re ripped as hell, man. You had to dedicate hours to that bod.”

Steve looks down at his soda, watching the bubbles float to the top and pop, trying to will the flush away, “I was an art major, if you can believe it.”

“Art, huh?” Bucky pushes at his cup with his fingers, making Steve look up, “What kinda’ art?”

“Figure drawing, painting, a little bit of sculpture,” Steve shrugs, “the normal kind, I guess.”

Bucky frowns a little, “Never really met a traditional art major,” before looking up with a wide smile, “guess you’re my first.”

Steve ignores the double meaning, “Traditional?”

“Yeah, every ‘art major’ did graphics and stuff, not like pencil to paper.”

“Where’d you go to college at?” Steve asks, because _really_ who hasn’t met an art major that works with paper and utensils. 

“MIT,” Bucky says with a shrug, like that college isn’t a Big Deal.

“I’m sitting with a genius,” Steve leans back in his seat and looks Bucky over, of course Bucky’s attractive, that’s obvious, but he’s also- according to his graduated college- very smart, and Steve can’t deal with Bucky getting any more perfect.

“I’m not a genius,” Bucky snorts, “just an MIT grad.”

“How grad?” Steve asks because now he has to know, “regular grad, masters, doctorate?”

Bucky, finally being the one out of the two of them, blushes and looks down at his drink, “Doctorate,”

“See, genius!” Steve leans across the table and nudges Bucky’s arm with a finger, “I’m just messin’ with ya’, Buck, but really,” Steve moves his head to look at Bucky from under his curtain of hair, “you’re smart and getting into that college is impressive, be proud of it.”

“I am proud,” Bucky says, sighing, “just a little bit embarrassed, and you’re gonna call me a genius again if I tell you where I work.”

“I’m just being honest,” Steve says, leaning back in the booth, “so where do you work?”

Bucky mumbles something too low for Steve to hear, “Can you repeat that?”

Bucky sigh and pushes his hair back, “Stark Industries, I work for Stark Industries.”

Steve lets out a low whistle, “You know what I’m gonna’ say so I’m not gonna’ say it.”

“Well look at you,” Bucky says waving a hand in front of Steve, “artists turned policeman, saving kittens from trees, or whatever, probably helpin’ old ladies cross the road.”

“I’m pretty sure the kittens in trees thing is for firemen,” Steve points out.

“Whatever,” Bucky grumbles, thanking the waitress when she leaves their food, “you know what I mean.”

Steve grins, grabbing the ketchup, “I do.”

* * *

* * *

That’s how it continued for the next six months, both of them going out to dinner together most nights or staying in if either of them were too tired to leave the building. 

(“What’s up?” Bucky asks, in greeting to Steve calling.

“Dinner tonight?” he was honestly about to fall asleep inside his open fridge and munch on whatever came closest to his mouth, but if Bucky wants to go out to dinner then he’d splash some water on his face and wait for him in the hallway. He thinks he’d do anything for Bucky at his point, and it’s not just because of his frankly annoying crush, but because Bucky is one of the best people Steve’s ever had the honor to meet- and that’s not just the sleepiness talking.

“‘m kinda tired, and you sound tired, so how about we order some pizza and watch some shit TV on your awesome TV?”

Steve wants to praise whatever god perfected Bucky, get on his knees and raise his hands to the sky, but instead he opts for closing his fridge and looking at the Domino's menu stuck to the door with a magnet, “Deal, it’s your turn to choose what we watch anyways.”)

If both of them had long shifts at work they’d call each other over lunch.

(“You ever been shot?” Bucky asks one evening, it was Steve’s turn to take the late shift so he was only just having lunch while Bucky was probably lazing around his apartment because he finished his project for Stark two days early.

“Yep,” Steve says, popping the ‘p’, he pushes around a tomato with his fork, “doesn’t feel nice.”

Bucky chuckles, probably rolling his eyes, “Ya’ don’t say, anywhere embarrassing.”

Steve hums for a moment while he chews his salad, “Got shot in the ass once, they don’t make ass Kevlar, but they should.”

“In the ass?” Bucky asks through his laughter and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Yes, in the ass, it wasn’t a fun adventure. Made walking, sitting, even sleeping hard.” He remembers nights when he’d wake up on his back with burning pain because he was putting pressure on the wound and having to roll back over onto his stomach and try not to stretch the skin. Getting shot in the ass is not something he wants ever again, he’d much rather be shot in the arm. He’d much rather not get shot at all.

“I can imagine,” Bucky says, humming, “losing an arm sucked.”

They never talk about Bucky’s metal prosthetic, never talk about what led to it, but Steve guesses now’s the easiest time since they’re talking about wounds over the phone, “How’d you lose it?” Steve asks gently.

“Long story short is an experiment went too wrong, too fast, and I couldn’t get out of the way.”

“But,” Bucky says, before Steve can say anything, “it got me a cool prosthetic that works better than my old arm.”

Steve nods, they’re going the humor route apparently, “ _And_ now you’re part robot, so when the robots take over you’ll be their king.”

“Exactly!”)

Other times they’d hang out with friends, an odd mix of Stark employees, cops, and Sam’s doctor crew, usually at some joint with sticky counters that probably hasn’t had a health inspection in months.

(“Ya’ know,” Bucky says, practically drunk from the way he’s leaning into Steve’s side, ”in all our months of friendship, I’ve never seen you drunk and we’ve been out _plenty_ of times.”

Steve shrugs, poking at the fried platter they ordered for the table, “I don’t think I can get drunk.”

Bucky frowns, hair fallen in his face, bar lights reflecting off his arm, “That’s sad,” he turns to Sam, “isn’t that sad?”

Sam, obviously holding back a laugh at Bucky’s tipsiness, “Yeah, that’s sad man, how about we get you some water before you get a bad hangover and can’t go into work?”

Bucky sighs and grabs a fried pickle from the platter, “I guess, don’t wanna’ haveta’ use a sick-day.”

Natasha gets up from the other side of Bucky on the booth, “I’ll get you a glass of water, James, besides, mama needs a vodka.”

“And I’ll go with you,” Riley, the only completely sober one at the table, says, pressing a kiss to Sam’s cheek before sliding out of the booth.

Natasha glares at him, “I can take care of myself.”

“I know,” Riley says, raising up his hands, “just making sure you don’t break someone’s nose and get us kicked out _again_ , I swear the only reason they let us back in is ‘cause we don’t tell the health department about the outdated inspection.”

“Fine,” Natasha says, making her way to the bar without so much as a trip in her high heels even though she had to have downed five or more shots.

Bucky nestles his head into the crook of Steve’s neck and grabs another pickle, “You gonna’ stay here, Stevie?”

Steve looks down at Bucky and smiles, ignoring the looks Sam gives him when he puts an arm around Bucky- he’s a cuddly drunk, sue him- “‘course I am, Buck, someone’s gotta make sure you get home safe.”

“Saving me from the scary men lurking in alleyways, what a hero,” Bucky mutters before sighing and closing his eyes, “wake me up when the water gets here.”

Steve pulls him in a little tighter, “Sure thing, Buck.”)

It only took Steve getting shot to change their status from _best friends_ to _boyfriends_.

* * *

* * *

Steve wakes to the sound of beeping and something warm resting on his lap. He doesn’t even need to open his eyes to know that he’s in the hospital, he remembers getting shot in the side perfectly well, but he does need to open his eyes to figure out what the warm weight resting on his lap is, because that’s definitely not a warm blanket. 

And it’s way better than a warm blanket, if he’s being perfectly honest.

Steve lightly places his hand on Bucky’s head, slightly tangling his fingers into Bucky’s silky locks. He closes his eyes again and settles back into the bed, still hurting from where he was shot but not wanting to press the button for more morphine in fear of going to sleep before Bucky wakes up. He’s not even sure what time it is since the blinds are closed and the only light on is the one in the bathroom, door cracked making the light resemble a night light. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes of him carding his fingers through Bucky’s hair but almost too soon- seeing as Steve doesn’t touch Bucky’s hair on the normal- Bucky picks up his head, “Hey,” Steve says softly, smiling despite the pain because Bucky always looks cute when he wakes up (and Steve knows this because they’ve passed out at each other’s apartments more times than Steve can count on his fingers and toes).

“Steve,” Bucky looks him over with wide eyes, “you’re awake!”

Steve lets his hand drop to Bucky’s cheek and rubs a thumb against his soft skin, he can blame it on the drugs later if he has to, “Sure am, how long I been out?”

Bucky looks at the watch on his wrist, keeping his cheek in Steve’s hand, “Close to three hours, how’re you feeling?”

“Like I got shot,” Steve says with a grimace, he hurts but the morphine can wait.

“You’re an idiot,” Bucky says, his face still sleep soft but there’s a fire behind his eyes, one Steve’s become familiar with since it’s a Steve-Fucked-Up-And-Got-Hurt-And-There’s-Nothing-I-Can-Do-About-It kind of fire.

Steve sighs, “I know what you’re gonna’ say, Buck.”

“No,” Bucky says, sitting up but pressing Steve’s hand to his cheek with his metal hand, “no you don’t.”

“But I do, you’re gonna tell me-”

“That I know it’s part of your job, but I can’t stand seeing you in the hospital every week or so since you did something reckless. That every time I see Sam’s name on the caller ID my heart beats faster because you might be hurt.” Bucky looks away for a moment, and Steve feels guilty, so, _so_ guilty. He always got the watered down version of this, the ‘stop being an idiot’ version, not this, never this. 

“You don’t know,” Bucky starts again, taking in a deep breath, “you don’t know how much I love you and how much it scares me when I come to the hospital because what if this time is it? What if the reason you can’t be an idiot anymore is ‘cause you’re a dead idiot.” Bucky looks back at Steve, into Steve’s stunned eyes, “I love ya’, Stevie, as more than a friend, and I wanna’ be with you-”

“I love you and I want to be with you too,” Steve blurts, unable to hold it back because he’s wanted to be with him since they meet six months ago when Steve thought someone was getting hurt next door to him.

Bucky smiles at Steve, something small and intimate, nothing like Steve’s ever seen, “I was hopin’ you’d say that, but-”

Steve feels his heart beat faster, hears it on the monitor.

“-you gotta’ be more careful, stop doing unnecessary or idiotic things like leaving your Kevlar at home, ‘cause I love you- and everyone damn well knows it- but I can’t be with someone who’s gonna’ get himself killed.”

“I’ll be safer,” Steve says, taking Bucky’s other hand in his, “I’ll make sure to put on Kevlar everyday, I won’t jump in front of bullets or out of buildings, I’ll do everything to make sure I don’t end up here, I promise,” and Steve never breaks his promises. He’ll do his damn best not to get hurt in a way that doesn’t come with the job, he’ll try his best to work harder at being safer because now there’s someone on the other side that’s not just one of his friends. He’ll do anything and everything if it means being able to love Bucky as more than a friend.

Bucky brings up their entwined hands to his lips, he kisses Steve’s hand twice before pulling back, “I can’t believe it took you getting shot for us to finally fess up and admit our feelings to each other.”

“Well,” Steve says, leaning back into the bed, “I did think there was criminal activity going on next door, which was how we first met.”

“Our relationship was never meant to be normal,” Bucky says, resting his head back on Steve’s lap, “wonder how that’s gonna’ turn out down the line.”

“It’ll make things interesting,” Steve offers, placing his hand back on Bucky’s head.

“That it will.”

* * *

* * *

And if Sam made both their ringtones Shot of Love by Bob Dylan after finding out when and how they got together, that was his own personal business.

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr!
> 
>  
> 
> If you liked the fic reblog [this post!](http://pesmenos.tumblr.com/post/137367377120/love-shot-by-earthseraph-pesmenos-for-skywlkcr)


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